


Touching Jonathan Sims is a Complicated Matter, Until It Isn't

by The_Lonely_has_always_had_me



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: 1st chapter not beta read, 5+1, Canon Asexual Character, Canon Compliant, Canon-typical mentions of horror, Canonical Character Death, Fluff and Angst, For the most part, Like these 2 are capable of anything else, M/M, Now offering new and improved Beta read content, Season 1 thru post-159
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23100853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lonely_has_always_had_me/pseuds/The_Lonely_has_always_had_me
Summary: The first time they met Jon had shown him how uncomfortable he was with touch, and Martin had assumed it was simply that Jon had no interest in touching him.  Ever.  Well, actually there’s still a good possibility that this is equally true.5 times that Martin has to be careful with the archivist, and 1 time he doesn't
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 224
Kudos: 905





	1. After the "Promotion"

**Author's Note:**

> Second story ever posted, and let's go for some chapters this time around. It's all written up and just waiting for chapter edits. Which will give me a chance to work on the pure fluff piece on these two...and the series of one-shots...and the other chapter fic about cabin life...and- Boy, the hyper-fixation is strong with this one. 
> 
> I do not write in present tense, but this thing refused to come out any other way. But since virtually every chapter has Martin recalling past events, the tense is all over the place. Please forgive any mistakes. I know there are probably some there even after reading each sentence 50 times.
> 
> Also, since apparently this is a thing that not's going to go away soon, I'd love to find a Beta reader. If anyone is interested, let me know in the comments. And I'm happy to offer my services as a second set of eyes as well. I oddly really enjoy editing. :)

Martin can see Tim sneaking up behind Jon as he is muttering to himself and searching through a stack of boxes. He starts to warn Jon, but then Tim shushes him when he notices that he’s been seen. Tim leans in to whisper “Can I have a cigarette?” in an eerily spot on impression of Jon’s voice in that first statement they had finally gotten to record. Jon’s head snaps up and immediately Tim grabs both his sides, goosing him and yelling “Boo!” Jon gasps, and his arms snap in crossing over his chest protectively. Tim is laughing heartily, and Sasha is trying to hide her giggles behind her hand. Martin is the only one who’s at an angle to see Jon’s face. To see the moment of real panic before Jon forces his face into a caricature of annoyance.

“Very funny, Tim.” His voice is dead pan, but now that he’s paying attention, Martin can hear the slightest tremble under it.

Tim slings an arm around Jon’s shoulders. “It really was, Boss.” Every muscle in Jon’s body is so tense that he doesn’t budge at all under the weight of the larger man.

“If you are quite finished wasting time, perhaps you could do your job and ASSIST me with finding the statement we saw yesterday about the woman who believes her neighbor was replaced. I thought it was in one of these boxes.”

“Oh, the Bodysnatcher one. No, I think that one is still in one of the stacks in document storage.” Tim still has his arm thrown around Jon, seemingly oblivious to the other man’s discomfort.

“Well, perhaps you and Sasha-” she is still red-faced but does manage to look at least a little contrite, “could both make yourselves useful and go find it for me?”

Groaning, Tim finally steps away from Jon. Every muscle remains tensed even as Tim walks away. “Come on, Sasha. Let’s go do some _work_.”

Martin remains silent, watching Jon from the doorway to the small breakroom. The moment the door closes behind the two other assistants, Jon leans heavily on the boxes, breaths coming in sharp gasps, and eyes shut tightly. Martin can see how badly his hands are shaking as he runs them through his hair, mussing the normally neatly combed black hair, making the small strands of silver at his temples even more obvious. Jon’s arms come down close to his chest again, and he clutches at his own elbows as if he’s trying to hold himself together.

“Jon,” Martin purposefully keeps his voice at just above a whisper, quiet and utterly non-threatening as he can manage.

The archivist still flinches and instantly searches out Martin, staring at him in panic and looking more than a little like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Martin smiles at him softly and tries to make it reassuring.

“I was going to make some tea. Why don’t you come sit for awhile?”

Jon’s eyes shoot towards his office door, and Martin knows he’s going to try to flee. He cuts him off before he can start to stammer out the first excuse. Now his voice is firm, more commanding than he probably should be with his boss. “Come sit down, Jon.” There is a moment of shock on Jon’s face, but then something relaxes in his shoulders. He follows Martin into the breakroom and sits down heavily at the small table. His hands are still shaking, and he tries to hide it by clasping them together in his lap. Martin leaves him staring blankly at the tabletop and turns to the kettle. 

It would be easy to rationalize away the man’s reaction as simply fear, but Martin thinks it is more...personal than that. Several memories seem to make more sense now, and he finds himself pinpointing all the times he should have picked up on this before now. If he had caught it earlier, he could have intervened, and Jon wouldn’t be so upset right now.

The few times that Jon had joined his assistants for drinks after work he had always picked out a spot for them that he would be able to put space between himself and them. Martin had interpreted it as trying to maintain a bit of the line between boss and employees. He’s embarrassed now that it had actually annoyed him, thinking Jon was trying to make sure they remembered that he was above them.

He’s seen Jon shake hands with many people. Each time he pauses for just a moment, taking a deep breath, before reaching out to firmly clasp the other person’s hand. Most people never even seemed to notice the delay, but Martin had found himself wondering each time what was going through Jon’s head in that second. He has an idea now.

He shakes his head slowly. Dammit. The first time they met Jon had shown him how uncomfortable he was with touch, and Martin had assumed it was simply that Jon had no interest in touching him. Ever. Well, actually there’s still a good possibility that this is equally true. 

He had still been working in the library then and had jumped a bit as a deep, quiet voice spoke up from behind him. “Excuse me, Mr. Blackwood?”

And of course he had ruined it from the very beginning. He’d turned, ready to greet the man, eyes seeking someone his own height. By the time his gaze had lowered enough to find the new Research assistant, Jon’s face was darkening into his now-familiar scowl. It had gone downhill from there. Jon had come seeking him after being told he might have a text on instances of people buried alive. He led him back to his desk, more than happy to put his summary duties on hold and be rid of the awful book for a bit. It was surprisingly heavy, and Jon had scrambled to hold onto the sudden weight when he handed it over. Instinctively, Martin had reached out to help, covering Jon’s hands with his own to support the weight. Jon had immediately jerked his hands away, and the book had slammed loudly on the tile in the silent library. Martin had picked it up, stammering out an apology; so he had missed Jon’s reaction. By the time he was facing the man again, there was nothing but a hard stare and lips pressed into a thin line. Jon had snatched the book away, prepared for the weight this time and had muttered, “Good day, Mr. Blackwood,” as he’d turned and marched away, steadfastly ignoring all the people who had stopped to stare at them.

He adds the splash of milk that Jon likes to his cup and then adds the two spoons of sugar, making sure the second one is heaping to add the extra sugar that Jon doesn’t know he prefers. As he turns he shifts the cup in his grip so that the handle is pointed towards Jon and can be grasped easily without risking their hands brushing. “Here you go.”

Jon jumps a bit and looks up at the cup. He starts to reach for it before pausing with his hand outstretched. His eyes narrow as he stares at it; then his gaze shoots up to Martin’s face. The line that Martin is beginning to recognize as his worried face appears across his brow. Martin again tries to smile reassuringly. He pushes the cup closer to Jon. “It’s a bit hot…”

Jon startles and immediately grabs the handle, taking the cup and holding it close to his chest. “Sorry-”

Martin waves him off as he turns to fix his own cup. There are a few beats of silence behind him, before Jon speaks quietly.

“Thank you, Martin.”

Martin can feel the heat spreading through his cheeks. “It’s just tea. I make it every day.”

“It’s not though. I mean thank you for the tea as well, but- it’s more a thank you for...accommodating me.”

Stirring in the (massive amount of) sugar in his cup, Martin returns to the table. “I’m sorry about Tim. He’s a good guy though. If he knew, he’d never...You could just tell him, you know?”

Jon’s shoulders hunch, and he still hasn’t made eye contact since he took the cup. “It’s generally not a good idea. People either start asking questions that are none of their damn business or start over-reacting and avoiding me altogether. Not like I don’t already give people enough reason for that.”

Martin smiles, but Jon still hasn’t looked up to see it. They sit in silence for a few moments until Jon speaks again. “Hands are okay...now that I know you...now that you’re not a...stranger anymore.”

“That’s good to know. I wasn’t sure- I was thinking about when we met. In the library-”

Jon laughs and finally looks up at Martin. “That wasn’t exactly the best first impression I’ve ever made. Um, sorry about that.”

“Pretty sure mine was equally disastrous.”

Jon shakes his head and passes a hand over his face. Martin notes that it is no longer shaking. “God, I was an ass to you.”

Martin has to bite his tongue and apparently does not school his incredulous expression before Jon looks back to him.

The worry line is back. “What?”

Ah, what the hell? They seem to be having a moment here. He gives Jon a challenging look. “Was?”

The other man’s eyes widen for a moment, and one of his eyebrows quirks up as if he’s intrigued by Martin’s sass. Finally, he huffs out a laugh and runs a hand through his hair, mussing it further. “That’s fair,” he concedes. He slips off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “This job is...more than I thought I was signing up for. I’m beginning to think Elias purposefully ‘forgot’ to give me a tour before I agreed to take this on. I’m not sure that I’ve figured out how to channel that stress yet.”

“It certainly is _a lot_. I don’t think any of us were expecting this level of chaos. I’m surprised really; Gertrude always struck me as- I don’t know, intense maybe? Intimidating as hell when you didn’t move fast enough. Never would have taken her for lazy.”

Jon grunts an agreement. He sets his glasses on the table and presses his fingers against his eyelids.

“Um, Jon? I know you said you didn’t want questions- so I’m not going to ask, but I don’t want to avoid you either- Not that I could probably even do that down here. It’s not exactly spacious and I’m rather- I mean there are at least 3 rooms that Tim and I can’t even stand up all the way in. What I’m trying to say is, just tell me okay? If something- if I- ever make you uncomfortable, you don’t have to hide it like that and panic once I’m gone. Tell me and let me panic with you.” He tries to cover the awkwardness of his rambling with a joke at the end, and it seems to work at least a little. Jon gives him a small smile.

“Alright, I can do that.” His hands are fiddling with his glasses now, and he’s avoiding eye contact again. “It normally wouldn’t even have bothered me- what Tim did, where he- I could have managed it, but I- I don’t deal well with surprises. I can handle it better if I have a moment to prepare, if I see it coming.”

Martin nods. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll see what I can do about that. Make sure it doesn’t happen again. Without telling him anything,” he adds when Jon starts to protest.

Jon smiles a little and slips his glasses back onto his face, looking closely at him again. He opens his mouth to say something, but they both jump as Tim’s voice echoes across the Archives.

“Found it, Boss!”

“I think you mean I found it,” Sasha points out quietly, “and in a box that you had already searched.”

“It was a team effort!” Tim counters cheerily.

They both smile at each other as Sasha groans wearily as she flops into her desk chair.

“I should go deal with that. I think that’s the one I’d like us to research next.” Jon stands from the table and picks up his tea, which has only gone slightly cold as they talked. “Thank you, Martin. For the tea.”

Jon holds his gaze for a moment before walking quickly out of the room.

* * *

It’s two weeks after the conversation in the break room before Tim moves to throw his arm around Jon’s shoulders again. Martin watches Jon tense for the touch, but Tim suddenly lowers his arm and glances sheepishly at him. After a moment, he punches Jon teasingly in the arm and goes back to his desk. Jon stares after him suspiciously. Martin isn’t surprised when he is called into the office a couple of minutes later.

“What was that? How did you get him to-?” Jon’s question dies as he just stares at Martin.

“I told you I’d take care of it.”

“And you didn’t…”

“Not a word about it.”

“But HOW?” He can tell Jon is not going to let this go. He starts to panic then he remembers the way Jon had looked at him when he had shown a bit of backbone. He can do this...hopefully without his voice cracking.

He shrugs nonchalantly (or at least that is how he hopes it looks). “I told him I fancied you, and it made me uncomfortable when he touched you like that.” He watches as Jon’s face slowly goes completely slack with surprise. His mind is screaming at him to bail while this is still going passably well. “Alright, I’m going to get back to work now.” He shuts the door behind him before Jon has even regained his composure.

From behind the door, he hears a breathless “What?!” and laughs. 

Ridiculous. Yeah, he wants to earn Jon’s respect, but even he isn’t desperate enough to fall for his waspish boss. Not much had changed since their conversation. Jon is still treating him terribly and being a bastard in general. Martin smiles to himself as he walks back to his desk. 

A beautiful bastard, but a bastard nonetheless.


	2. After the Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now it’s two days after Jon’s most recent return, and he’s already preparing to leave again. Which is why Martin is hovering by his door. He doesn’t want to interrupt Jon’s search for clues as to Gertrude’s activities before her trek across the globe with Gerard Keay, but he wants (needs) to see him while he’s still here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll, this Beta reader stuff is a game-changer! Seriously, so SO many thanks to gummies for working absolute magic with sentences that refused to behave. 
> 
> This one is set during season 3.

Martin hovers by Jon’s office door. Jon leaves it open, now. When they’d all first started in the Archives, he’d left it cracked unless he was recording a statement. Then, after Prentiss’s attack- after they ( _ Martin _ ) found Gertrude’s body- the door was always shut. But ever since his return to the Institute after being wanted for murder, the door stood open. As if he wants to be interrupted. As if he wants  _ company. _ It has not escaped Martin’s attention that, aside from Basira on a few occasions, he is the only one to take Jon up on the offer.

The Archives were a strange place without Jon. Well, stranger than usual. Before Leitner’s death, Martin had to practically beg the man to go home. He could hardly remember a time of being there without him in the early days, and he had  _ lived _ there, for God’s sake! Then Jon had disappeared. For months, Martin had tried to make sense of the place without the comforting presence behind the office door. Eventually, he would find himself standing in the office after the others had left for the day, unable to picture the Archivist behind the desk. The first time he had absentmindedly sat in Jon’s chair, perusing a folder of follow up research for a statement, guilt had made him bolt out of it The second time, he hadn’t even realized what he was doing until he noticed Tim standing in the doorway, staring at him. 

Then, just as suddenly, Jon was back. Standing in the middle of the Archives, looking almost  _ lost  _ after that awful meeting in Elias’s office, the fresh cut on his throat still bright red, clothes splattered in what had to be blood, and one hand wrapped in a thick layer of gauze. He’d turned, as if he had known Martin was standing silently behind him, and almost more disconcerting- smiled fondly and whispered that it was very good to see him. Jon’s appearances in the Institute were sporadic after that. He’d be there for days at a time and then vanish again for just as many. He sought out Martin now, though. For tea, for his opinion, even just for company. Then silence, while he was away doing...whatever it was he was working on away from them.

Martin’s ashamed to admit that it was well into the second week before he realized that Jon had been gone for longer than normal. Elias kept him very busy, and Jon had left him with a short list of things he wanted to be researched. Of course, it had been the tea that tipped him off. How long since Martin had made a second cup? Elias had blown off his concerns, offering only that Jon “had his reasons for being gone”. The next day, Martin sent his first  _ Hey, where are you? _ text. By the end of week three, there were over two dozen unanswered messages and at least ten voicemails, Martin’s voice becoming increasingly desperate in each one. The last, he’d left only the day before Jon stepped out of the yellow door that’d never been there before and stormed past him and Basira, directly up the stairs to Elias’s office.  _ Please come back. _

Melanie had entered a bit later and informed them very casually about Jon’s kidnapping. Martin had hidden in the bathroom, trying to get his breathing under control. How the  _ fuck _ had this become their life? Sasha was  _ dead, _ Tim was _ broken, _ and Jon had been  _ taken. _ Taken by monsters and rescued by another one. And Martin...well, Martin had gone and done the thing he had found ridiculous months ago. Sometime during all the late nights spent working together, he’d fallen in love with someone whose decisions led regularly to mortal peril. Someone who now, apparently, had the weight of an impending apocalypse squarely on his shoulders. When he finally had himself put somewhat back together, Martin stepped out to find Jon seeking him out once again.

Now it’s two days after Jon’s most recent return, and he’s already preparing to leave again. Which is why Martin is hovering by his door. He doesn’t want to interrupt Jon’s search for clues as to Gertrude’s activities before her trek across the globe with Gerard Keay, but he wants (needs) to see him while he’s still here. 

Jon reaches for a box higher up on one of the shelves. His arms aren’t even above his shoulders when he lets out a small cry of pain and pulls them in against his chest. Martin’s across the room before he realizes it.

“Jon? Are you okay?”

He doesn’t turn towards him, just stares up at the box as if it’s challenging him and shrugs, which brings out another soft grunt. “It’s nothing. I’m just...stiff still, apparently. It would seem that a month tied to a chair has some lingering effects.”

In the weeks Jon spent back in the Archives before the kidnapping, Martin had gotten used to being close to him- so he thinks nothing of stepping up and reaching over Jon to pull down the box. At most, he’s expecting a half-hearted jab about flaunting his height over the smaller man. He certainly doesn’t expect Jon to recoil so violently that he flattens himself against the shelf to the side.

They just stare at each other for a moment before Martin can find his voice. “Oh _ , _ God, I’m  _ so _ sorry- I didn’t mean to…” He backs away quickly and sets the box down on the desk. “Jon, I’m sorry.”

Jon hides his face in his hands and shakes his head without looking up. “No, please, don’t be. That...wasn’t your fault. I don’t know why I reacted like that. Not to- not to you.” He does look up at Martin now, smiling sadly. “You are...basically the only person I trust completely.”

Martin doesn’t know how to even  _ begin _ to control his expression at that, so he doesn’t try. “Th-Thank you for that- I’m glad that you do, but you haven’t reacted like that in a long time. Did something- you know, beyond just the kidnapping- not that it’s ever ‘just a kidnapping’! I mean, do you want to talk about it, or-”

Jon’s looking at the floor now, and he speaks softly. His words silence Martin immediately. “They want my skin.”

Martin takes a deep breath before he attempts to respond to that. “I’m sorry; what?!”

Jon crosses the room and leans against the desk. He’s at the other end, but he still walked towards Martin, which does a little to relieve the tightness in his chest. “Since Gertrude destroyed the gorilla skin and I, therefore, could not produce it, Nikola decided that the skin of the Archivist would be a fine replacement. My skin regime is apparently not up to the Stranger’s standards, however. She wanted it in better condition.”

“How are you joking about this?” Martin can hear the desperate edge to his voice.

Jon’s face creases, and for a moment, he honestly can’t tell if the man is laughing or crying until his bitter laugh cuts through. “Because if I don’t, I might actually lose it this time, Martin.”

It takes everything in Martin to stay where he is. He’s pretty sure Jon notices how his body jerks instinctively towards him before settling back against the opposite end of the desk, hands gripping the edge of the wood tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Lotion twice a day. She insisted; hell, she supervised almost every time. At first, it wasn’t awful. They let me do it, and at least it meant the ropes came off.” Jon rubs unconsciously at the bandaged wounds on his wrists. “Then she figured it out. Saw me flinch away from one of the…things when it touched my shoulder to undo the knots. After that, they never removed the restraints, and she was the one who…”

Jon’s voice cracks, and he doesn’t finish the sentence.

“Jesus, Jon. That’s- awful! I’m so sorry, I-” This time it’s his voice that gives out, and Jon looks up at him sharply. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to give someone a hug more in my entire life, and I...can’t.” He huffs out a laugh with the last word, and Jon smiles back at him.

“Probably wouldn’t be a good idea, no. I do appreciate the sentiment, though.”

“Hey, I think I still have some lidocaine gel in my desk from when we were moving all those boxes, back in the beginning. Could help…” His voice trails off as Jon cringes. “Too much like lotion?”

Jon just nods, shuddering a little.

“Might still have some muscle relaxers at home that Mum left behind…”

“Thank you for trying, Martin, but I’ll be fine. Those tend to knock me out, and I have too much work to do before I leave. Plus, I don’t like the idea of not being able to wake up. I already feel like I get stuck in the- in my dreams, sometimes.”

(And oh, how many times will that statement haunt his mind in the coming months? How many times will it take his breath away as he sits by a hospital bed and watches the ceaselessly moving eyes behind closed lids?)

He looks away from Martin and pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tightly. They stand in silence for a bit. Then, Martin notices a movement out of the corner of his eye. Jon’s own are still closed, but his free hand is now braced on the desk much closer to Martin. As he watches, Jon’s fingers rub against each other nervously, and then he turns his hand palm up. 

Oh. Oh, please don’t let him be misreading this. 

The moment he wraps his hand around Jon’s, he feels the fingers squeeze against his. A little of the tension seeps out of the other man’s body, and the smallest curl appears at the corner of his lips. “Thank you, Martin. For everything.”

Martin stands perfectly still, afraid that any movement will break this spell. He holds his breath while he watches Jon’s shoulders relax, bit by bit. His eyes open, and he stares at where Martin’s hand is clasping his own. Slowly, his gaze traces up Martin’s arm, and he feels his held breath rush out in a soft ‘Oh.’ 

Jon has never looked at him like this. Hell,  _ no one _ has ever looked at him like this. There are no carefully constructed walls to hide himself away; no sharp edges and angles to keep everyone away. The look is open and soft and fond and…

“What would I ever do without you?” Jon’s voice is quiet, awed.

Somehow, Martin manages to keep his voice at least a little steady. He squeezes Jon’s hand and whispers back. “That’s one question you will never need to worry about answering.”

Jon opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by a soft, electronic buzz behind him. They both look over to see that a mobile phone sitting on the desktop has just powered on after charging. Jon’s hand slips from his as he reaches for it. He pauses and then redirects the hand to press the stop button on the tape recorder that has been whirring softly in the background. He looks back to Martin. “I didn’t- I wasn’t recording that, I swear. I never touched it...Did I?”

“You didn’t. I think they just...do that now.” Martin’s chest aches with the loss of that gaze, but Jon looks so concerned now that he has to answer him as if nothing had happened. “You found your phone?”

Jon scowls, snatching it up. “Elias had it. Claims he forgot he had it in a drawer somewhere. Georgie came to get answers, and he met her at the door before she could get to any of you. Somehow, he talked her into leaving it with him. She says the conversation is a little fuzzy. I hate the idea that he did something to her, but honestly, I wouldn’t expect anything else from him.”

The phone starts to buzz in his hand as messages are finally able to be received. “Oh, these are new...from Georgie.” He blanches a little. “She’s pissed that I haven’t called her yet. I should…” 

Martin stands up from the desk. “Of course, I’m sure she was worried.” Jon looks like he wants to say something else, but the phone vibrates again. Martin smiles crookedly at him and leaves the office, pulling the door almost closed behind him. A few moments later, Jon’s voice echoes down the hallway after him. “Of course I’m not dead... Georgie, it’s been like six hours since you saw me...I do have a job, you know...yes, my boss is a murderer...I really don’t see what that-”

* * *

Jon jumps when Martin drops the small box onto the desk beside his elbow. His phone falls out of his hand and clatters onto the desk.

“I figured it out!” Martin motions towards the box, and Jon’s wide-eyed gaze turns woodenly towards it. “Pain relief patches: no drowsiness, does not feel like lotion, and you can put them on yourself.”

Jon looks back up at him, and Martin grins at him. Jon just blinks. Martin glances past the Archivist to the phone, and he can see that it’s on the voicemail screen. He spots his own name. Shit.

He’s blushing furiously, but he forces himself to shrug. “I was worried about you.” He leans down and taps the box on the desk. Jon does not move away this time. “Still am. Make sure you use those.” And he flees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up the next one is wall to wall angst. Seems rather obligatory given the source material.


	3. After the Unknowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s not really sure why he’s here. He’d had no intention of ever returning after accepting Peter’s offer. And yet, he’d found himself getting off the train three stops too early for his flat and turning immediately in the direction of the hospital.
> 
> Maybe because it’s supposed to hurt like this here? This is the room where he expects to feel utterly abandoned; so this is where he should be now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, this one hurt to write. Martin deserves all the hugs. The season 4 trailer is referenced, as well as several of the things mentioned at the beginning of season 4.
> 
> You guys are killing me (in the best way possible!) with these comments! I'm so glad you are enjoying it! The next 2 chapters are in edits now; so updates will keep coming.
> 
> And again, HUGE thanks to gummies for being an amazing Beta!

Martin lets himself slide to the floor and pulls his knees to his chest. He had expected to be stopped out in the hall, by someone either surprised by his presence after weeks, or by his appearance in general. All the nurses had seemed busy, however, and not one had even looked up at him as he headed towards the last door on the ward. He’s glad for it. He’s not sure that he could have forced small talk at the moment, and now he has the peace of sitting under the large window, unnoticed, in the dark hospital room. He hasn’t even bothered to glance at the figure on the bed. He knows Jon will look exactly the same as the last time, and he’s already said his goodbyes.

He’s not really sure why he’s here. He’d had no intention of ever returning after accepting Peter’s offer. And yet, he’d found himself getting off the train three stops too early for his flat and turning immediately in the direction of the hospital.

Maybe because it’s supposed to hurt like this here? This is the room where he expects to feel utterly abandoned; so this is where he should be now.

Water is pooling around him on the floor. The weather had been clear when he’d left Devon, but the clouds had loomed ahead of him as the train barrelled toward London. He’d walked the three blocks from the station to the hospital in pouring rain, without an umbrella. His suit is probably ruined. He can’t actually bring himself to care, despite it being the only halfway decent one he owns. He never wants to see this fucking thing again. It’s been nine weeks since the world had been saved (effectively ending his), and this is the third time he’s been forced to wear it.

The first had been Tim’s funeral, two weeks after the Unknowing. Basira- still on crutches- and Melanie had stood beside him, near the back of a large crowd of mourners who’d come to say farewell to a man who’d once been a friend to everyone he met. Martin had stared at the picture by the coffin, remembering when Tim had last smiled like that. He tried to hold on to the memory, but every time he looked away, the image was replaced by the bitter sneer that’d become much more common in the last few months. They all did their best to ignore the accusatory glances and whispers from his family. None of them knew why Tim was in that building, only that he was there with other Institute staff. Martin and the others left quickly after the service, when Tim’s parents began heading in their direction.

Sasha’s family had not been nearly so passive with their own accusations at her memorial, three weeks later. Her family had finally accepted that she was never coming back, but there couldn’t be a funeral. They would never even have the closure of a body. Her mother had ambushed Martin and Melanie almost as soon as they’d walked in the room, demanding to know what the hell was going on in that “God forsaken place”. Two dead bodies found, Sasha’s coworker buried, and another in the hospital when he should be in the ground as well. He’d had to physically carry Melanie out when she started screaming at them that they didn’t even know who they were mourning. The whole time, Not-Sasha smiled at them from the large photograph at the front of the room.

And now…

Today, no one had stood beside him as he watched his mother’s casket lowered into the ground. Only one other person had attended, besides the awkward young minister who, despite his best efforts, couldn’t hide his surprise at such a pathetic turn out. The lady who works the front desk at the care facility on the weekends stood across the grave from him. She gave Martin that same, sad smile he had seen one Saturday a month for over three years, every time she told him that his mother wasn’t up to visitors that day. She was lying, of course. He’d known that before Elias. Still, each time he had nodded, asked her to tell his mum that he loved her, and left quietly. He can practically feel the pity pouring off of her even now.

Poor boy. Poor boy whose mum couldn’t even love him. Poor boy who had no one to stand beside him at a time like this. More than half his friends were dead, and as for the other two...Basira and Melanie were always more coworkers than friends, and even that had been before he’d pulled away from the Archives to work with Peter. Martin wasn’t even sure if they knew his mother had died. He certainly hadn’t thought to tell them.

The woman had moved towards him after the short, hesitant sermon, and Martin had mentally recoiled so violently to the thought that she might touch him that something must have shown on his face. Her eyes slid past him, and she had walked away with the minister, both of them murmuring softly. Neither had looked back. Martin walked alone to the train station; he hadn’t looked back either.

He's pulled from his thoughts as the door opens. He looks up just as the light from the hall falls across Jon’s face. Even in ‘death,’ his expression is tense, brow pulled down and lips pressed into a flat line. Martin knows why, now. He’s heard the tape Elias left. He knows the hell that Jon walks ceaselessly behind his closed eyes.

He thought there was no more room for pain in him today. He is wrong.

Two nurses walk into the dark room, one a familiar face, the other new. He can just barely see them over the unmoving body on the bed. They don’t bother with the lights.

“-better to leave them off; you don’t have to look so close, then. Don’t hesitate to grab someone else, though. None of us like to come in here alone.” They approach the bedside; neither notices Martin in the dark.

The younger woman is staring at Jon with a mix of fascination and horror. “That is…”

She can’t find the words, but the other nurse (Janice? Janine?) has been here since Jon arrived, and Martin knows she understands completely. “Yeah, yeah, it is.” 

“And he just _ lays _ here like this? How is his brain still working if he’s not breathing- if his heart isn’t…?”

“People with much higher pay grades than us can’t answer that. All I know's that the private room's paid for indefinitely, and that it’s our job to check on him twice a shift to see if anything changes...which it never does.”

She reaches out to his wrist, doing the obligatory test for a pulse that still isn’t there. Martin doesn’t flinch. He’s gotten used to seeing strangers touch Jon. It had taken a while, though. The first time a nurse had laid his hands on Jon’s torso, Martin had expected the man to leap from the bed. It hadn’t happened, of course; nor anytime after that. The only reaction that had occurred had been Martin's. A doctor far more concerned with impressing a group of visiting physicians who'd come to see the medical marvel than he was with the actual  _ patient _ had thrown back the blanket and uncovered Jon's still chest. His fingers had traced scars that should've been open wounds only days after being pulled from a collapsed building. He grabbed Jon’s thigh to demonstrate a shattered femur that had healed itself fully.

Martin had seen red. He’s still not entirely sure what it was he said to the man, but it had been enough to send the entire group fleeing the room and to warrant the head nurse escorting him out with a gentle but firm order to go home and rest.

When he’d returned, he had stood by Jon’s bed, talking to him softly: apologizing for not being able to stop them from touching him and that it was necessary if they were going to help him (at that point he was still clinging stubbornly to the idea that there was a way to help).

Then he’d reached for his hand. 

He’d been thinking about the last time he’d seen Jon alive. How the man had hesitated just long enough before pulling Martin into a tight hug that he’d immediately understood the importance of the act. How Jon had consciously chosen to let him in and once there, held Martin close for a long time, burying his face in the soft jumper and squeezing tighter. He’d been thinking about being someone Jon chose to touch and be touched by. He remembered the warmth of the embrace and wanted to offer Jon that sort of comfort again. 

The hand he’d grasped in his own was cold, dry, and utterly lifeless.

Martin jerked his arm back and let out a pained wail. He’d known before then that Jon was ‘dead,’ but there was no way to deny it after that. Despite those eyes, Jon was gone. Martin wanted to hold on, even then. He tried to spend another night in the chair in the corner, but he’d woken up screaming, feeling cold, pulse-less hands pulling him down. The staff didn't need to ask him to leave that time. His visits fell off to every other day, then to once a week. By the time the Flesh attacked, Martin hadn't seen Jon in two weeks. He tried one more time. He had stood right where the nurses were now, begging Jon to come back to them...to him. Nothing had changed in the man’s expression. How could it have? Jon was dead. 

His phone had rang, and there was Peter on the line asking for his help again. Looking at the frozen expression and the twitching eyelids, Martin knew what he had to do to continue Jon’s work. His goal had been to keep them safe. If Peter could provide that, then how could Martin do anything other than offer himself up to honor Jon’s sacrifice? He said goodbye, walked out of the room, and sank into grief so thick he struggled to breathe. 

Somehow, the call that his mother had died did not break him. In fact, his crushing grief had turned into a frozen numbness. He could feel the edges of the emptiness within himself, could sense the enormity of it, but he’d been able to stand there and watch her be buried, and then just...walk away. He cared so little about anything in this world, now, that he was able to push it all aside. His brain tries to catch on the thought that if he  _ truly _ does not care anymore, then why is he back in this room- but his grip is frozen as well, and slides right past the idea he doesn’t want to examine too closely.

“Does anyone visit him?”

“There’s a young woman that comes about once a week. Though, I’m not sure it’s out of affection. She tends to spend most of her time in here ranting at him about how he could have gotten himself into this state.” Her voice is tinged with sadness when she continues. “There was a man in the beginning, too...I believe they might have been together? But I think this- seeing him like this...I think it broke him. He hasn’t been by in quite a while.”

The numbness pulses, and for a moment the grief is so sharp that Martin can think of nothing but the loss. His whole life, nothing but the one left behind.

Janelle (Janet?) steps around the bed, towards Martin, to press a button on the screen showing the chaotic brain waves inexplicably coming from the dead body before them. He expects her to scream when she spots him sitting in the dark. Instead, she moves right past him, even changes her stride to step over his foot, but never acknowledges his presence. Her foot slips a little in the puddle of water. She looks down directly at him before her gaze just...slides away. The same way the receptionist’s had earlier. 

“Window must be leaking; there’s water on the floor, over here. Better make sure we’re careful when we come back.”

Martin glances down and sees that the floor around him is shrouded with a low-lying, white fog that almost seems to shine, despite being hidden from the light spilling in through the door. He sucks in a breath and watches the younger nurse’s eyes snap to Jon’s face.

“Jesus! I could have  _ sworn _ I just heard him breathe!”

Martin slaps a hand over his mouth and goes still, hoping that will keep them from noticing him. 

Jacquelyn- that’s it- presses two fingers against Jon’s neck. After a moment, she shakes her head. “Must have been the wind outside. We’re done; let’s get out of here before anything  _ proper _ creepy happens.”

The nurses retreat quickly, and Martin is left reeling in the dark. How many times has he seen the small wisps of fog dissipating on the floor when Peter simply appeared? He thinks of the other two at the funeral, wandering away without a word, and the somehow empty seats in a wide berth around him on an otherwise crowded train back to London. It would seem that serving the Forsaken meant that when you wanted to be alone, you could simply disappear to the rest of the world.

Is he really this far gone already? Martin still hasn’t bought his new boss’s theory on the Extinction fully, but falling into service of this new fear had seemed almost natural. Hell, who was he kidding? He’d spent most of his life being invisible. Now, at least it would be by his choice. 

He stands and takes a few tentative steps. The fog cloud moves with him, encasing him in a protective pocket of cold, damp air. Somewhat against his will, his eyes fall on the body on the bed again. Now that he’s so recently seen another, Martin’s not sure how he had deluded himself for so long. Jon was a corpse, and looked it. Still, there were differences. His mother had wasted away to almost nothing in the final throes of her disease, but in death, her face had carried a peace in it that he couldn’t recall ever seeing in life. Jon has no peace nor rest. The idea flitters at the back of his mind again: would it be a mercy to-

Martin shakes his head violently and leaves the room before the idea can cement into anything that can take root. He revels in the numbing cold that fills his chest, and this time he notes how the people on the ward are not simply failing to notice him. They’re actively looking anywhere he is not. He sighs in relief and heads back out into the rain, letting the fog thin once he’s alone. He’s just stepping out from under the awning to make his way to the train station when a sleek black car stops at the curb next to him. The window rolls down, and a man in a black suit leans over to speak to him.

“Mr. Blackwood? Mr. Lukas said that you would need a ride home, and asked me to ensure you made it safely and as dry as possible. If you would?” He motions to the back of the car. 

Martin blinks at him for just a moment before sighing and opening the door. Of course Peter knows he’s here. He half expects the man himself to be sitting in the backseat, lips pursed and shaking his head in disappointment. But the seat is empty, and Martin slides to the center of the soft leather bench. The dark tinted window that separates the front from his compartment is closed (because _of_ _ course _ it is), but Martin immediately hears a voice come through a small speaker above his head. 

“Mr. Lukas asked me to pass on a message as well. He wants you to know how proud he is of your progress. He understands why you felt the need to be here tonight, and he is delighted that you have learned one of his most useful tricks.”

He can tell from the man’s tone that he has no idea what the words mean, but that he’s so used to working for an eccentric, often terrifying family like the Lukases that he’s probably learned simply to go with it. Martin opens his mouth to thank the man, but he hears the static of the intercom cut off before he can respond. He shakes his head, settles deeper into the seat, and lays his cheek against the side window to watch the streets of London as they pass by.

* * *

Martin’s back in the hospital room, but this time, he has no memory of how he got here. The rain has moved away from the city, and now the moonlight streams in through the large window opposite him. It illuminates the still, unchanged form of Jonathan Sims (the  _ Archivist, _ somehow his brain can feel the capital letter of the title now). A small movement in the window catches his attention, and he looks to the reflection.

A hundred eyes blink in unison from the darkness behind him, off to the left. He sucks in a breath when he realizes that they align with the rough outline of a man. Feels the fear rise in him as he searches the image reflected in the glass. Finally, he finds the two eyes that are supposed to be there. Eyes that are deep brown with amber near the pupils and so achingly familiar that Martin lets out a pained whimper. The gaze is searching his face frantically, and an arm covered in eyes of all shapes and sizes lifts. The eye in the palm of the hand reaching longingly towards him stares with an intensity that makes Martin feel as if he’s being broken down into his smallest bits under the examination. He sees a mouth open where Jon’s should be, and watches the lips he knows the exact shape of form into a silent plea.  _ Martin. _ Jon tries to say his name, reaching more desperately for him.

Martin sits up, gasping and alone in his bed. The grief is almost physical, and he cries out as it threatens to drown him. Desperately, he calls out for the numbness and yanks it towards him as hard as he can. The cold slams into him so suddenly and forcefully that his heart stutters. In an instant, he loses feeling of his limbs. Breathing the frozen air hurts his lungs. The important thing, he tells himself, is that the mournful wail in his mind has quieted. Eventually, it stops completely. He wraps his arms around himself and sinks into the unfeeling chill. The fog slowly fills his bedroom, rolling out from him in giant billows he doesn’t bother to notice.


	4. After Awakening (After Letting Go)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It really was just a matter of time, though. He couldn’t be expected to accomplish work that required focus and keep tabs on a determined, supernaturally advantaged Archivist. Which is how he ended up here, trapped in a small room off the Library, with Jon standing decidedly between him and the only exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, this one references ep124 and includes dialogue from 129, written of course by our beloved IRL Mr. Sims. 
> 
> Your comments are giving me life! Which given the state of the world at the moment is desperately needed. I've got one of those jobs for which there is no such thing as working remotely; so here's to practicing social distancing to best extent possible while still working a normal week. I hope everyone that has had to self-quarantine or can work from home is holding up well. Don't forget to take care of yourselves!
> 
> Gummies is the best Beta reader ever. I mean, I know we've only known each other like a week now, but I feel 100% confident in that assessment.

Martin had stood at the railing of the upper floor and watched as Jon entered the Institute for the first time since rising from the dead. Basira strode in through the double doors and across the tile with the same confidence she had every time she entered, ignoring any looks or whispers from the other staff. Jon, however, was not as prepared for the attention. He shuffled through the door behind her, rubbing his arm absently and staring at the floor. He greeted Rosie, who was standing frozen at her desk, and that was when he noticed the other employees gaping at him from throughout the lobby. He ducked his head back down and hurried by as she finally managed to stammer out a good morning.

Martin’s heart hammered in his chest, watching a man who appeared anything but dead rush to catch up with Basira at the top of the stairs that led down to the Archives. He froze a few feet away from her, however, and his head cocked to the side. Suddenly, Martin had known exactly what was about to happen. He didn’t try to figure out if it was the Eye or the Lonely that imparted the knowledge; he just pulled the fog around him, fading out of sight right before Jon looked up at the landing where he’d been standing. His gaze didn’t slide away from Martin as others’ did, and for a moment, Martin was afraid that he’d been seen anyway. Then Jon’s brow pulled down in confusion, and he squinted, like he was trying to pull something into focus. Martin stood there, transfixed by the sight of him. Other than a few new scars from the explosion, he seemed exactly the same as he had the day he had walked out with Tim, Daisy, and Basira at his side. Six months of lying dead on a hospital bed, and he looked as if he had simply... woken up and walked out. The exhaustion written across his features was a carry over from the months before the Unknowing.

“Sims, let’s go,” Basira pulled his attention away, and Martin had retreated before Jon could look back up to the railing.

Of course, he couldn’t avoid the Archivist completely. Jon was obsessively curious, and had been fanatical about solving mysteries even before he developed the ability to simply Know where to find the answers. The first time they’d come face-to-face had been Martin’s fault. He had waited until Basira and Melanie were out of the Institute, and was fairly certain Jon was recording a statement. Martin hadn’t bothered with the fog, thinking the Archivist would be far too preoccupied to hear him. Pulling the veil around himself was still taxing, and he was already struggling with only the few hours sleep he’d gotten in the days since Jon had returned. It was distracting, how the Archives felt  _ different _ now that Jon was back, as if his presence somehow completed the space. Less empty, less silent. And yet, Martin hadn’t heard the footsteps behind the office door until it was too late. Luckily, he had been able to extract himself from that meeting relatively quickly. But even as he fled back up the stairs, Martin felt the effects of that small interaction. He shuddered as the cool, detached calm that infused his mind was burned away in a haze of intent brown eyes and snippets of a deep voice he’d given up hope of ever hearing again outside of a tape. Peter must've been able to sense the small spark of warmth in him, because he’d frowned and emphasized again how just important their work was. After that, Martin was far more careful with leaving his office.

It really was just a matter of time, though. He couldn’t be expected to accomplish work that required focus  _ and _ keep tabs on a determined, supernaturally advantaged Archivist. Which is how he ended up here, trapped in a small room off the Library, with Jon standing decidedly between him and the only exit. Jon is wringing his hands and talking nervously, but his eyes haven’t left Martin for a second, as if he’s trying to record every detail. Martin shivers under the attention, simultaneously craving and hating the experience.

He’s still recovering from the admission of “I miss you” when Jon mentions his mother and steps forward, and oh, this is  _ not _ good. He can feel the grief bubbling up right beneath the surface. He needs to get out of here. He’s mumbled a few responses he barely remembers, but he realizes with a start that Jon is trying to talk to him about the others. The pain is easier to push down under the sudden flash of anger. Does he  not understand what Martin is trying to accomplish? Martin’s told him enough that he should know this’ll do nothing but undermine everything.

“ _ Stop. _ Stop, please; I- I shouldn’t know any of this, I-” He stands up and gathers his things quickly. “I, I _ really _ need to go; I, I-”

“Right,” Jon responds, but his eyes still track Martin as he moves to step around him. Jon reaches for him, and he knows the hand will not be cold like it was last time. His skin will be warm and soft, as it had been when Martin had been pulled into an embrace all those months ago. The thought of that scalding touch and what it could do to the carefully curated cold he holds at his core terrifies him. Martin jerks his hand away before Jon can make contact and steps back quickly. Shocked eyes find his, and Martin watches as something inside the other man breaks. Martin knows, to be rejected so fully by one of the only people who knows what touch means to him has to have left him reeling. His shoulders curl forward, and he wraps his arms tightly around himself as if Martin had physically struck him. This time the voice is soft and defeated. “Right.”

Martin strides to the door, but a tug on his mind freezes him. There is something in the air now; nothing he can smell or taste, yet somehow it is both as well. He turns back. There is a thick cloud of grey fog rolling off of Jon’s shoulders and spilling across the floor. He knows instinctively that he is seeing the Lonely coming off of the Archivist. 

And he wants it. 

He wants to strike out again with his words, to isolate the man more and feed off the desperation that pours from him. He has to grab the door frame to keep himself where he is. “Please stop finding me.”

“What happened, Martin?” Jon looks up at him again. He can barely drag his eyes away from the new wave of dense fog that falls out at his words to look the man in the eyes.

“You died-”  _ and you don’t even know you’re in danger right now. How can I protect you when you don’t even know when you‘re standing in a room with a monster? _

“I came back.”

Martin knows what he needs to do. If he feels this tempted by Jon, what would Peter feel? If Peter wants someone touched by the Eye and the Lonely, he has another prime candidate; one who has already proven himself more than willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good. Martin cannot let that happen. In that moment, his goal shifts from protecting them all to keeping Peter’s attention away from Jon and focused on himself.

“Yeah, and I’m not going to let it happen again.”


	5. After the Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s around enough to know that things are...tense in the Archives. That Basira has become rigidly protective of the staff, even if she doesn’t seem to trust or even particularly like any of them. He knew things had gotten worse after they heard the tape. He was aware that Jon hadn’t left the Institute since that day, though Martin’s not sure if it was of his own volition. 
> 
> He hadn’t been expecting this though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter 2 days in a row?! My caffeine-fueled anxiety has got to be good for something, right? We're still in the middle of the angst here, but we can see the light...the bright white beam of pure unadulterated fluff just over the horizon. The last chapter is in edits so I expect to have it up this weekend.
> 
> This one references events from ep142.
> 
> Have I mentioned that gummies is the best?

Martin is annoyed.

He’s annoyed that somehow Jon has again managed to claw his way into Martin’s brain, despite adhering to his request to stay away. He’s annoyed that guilt is apparently one of the few emotions that can find its way through the numbness. He’s  _ extremely _ annoyed that he had to be at the top of the stairs, heading down to the library, just in time to see something happen to Jon that was entirely his fault. Most of all, Martin’s annoyed that he’s now leaned against the railing, waiting to see Jon when he passes back through, instead of doing the rather important work he’s meant to be completing. 

He tries to tell himself that he had no choice. It’s not like he could have gone to Jon to talk about the woman’s complaint. The only options had been to let him continue to take people’s statements against their will, or tell the others in the Archives and let them deal with it. He knows Jon well enough to know that the man would (will) never forgive himself for what he’s doing; Martin had to stop him for his own sake, much less that of the general populace. The fact that passing this off to the others meant that he no longer had to spend any more time contemplating her statement  _ (“he was all eyes”) _ and dealing with the memories of reflections in hospital windows might have also played a small part in the choice. Once that was decided, Basira was the only rational option. He hasn’t spent much time with either of them, but based on his past experiences, Melanie and Daisy very well might have just killed the Archivist. He’s around enough to know that things are... _ tense _ in the Archives. That Basira has become rigidly protective of the staff, even if she doesn’t seem to trust or even particularly like any of them. He knew things had gotten worse after they heard the tape. He was aware that Jon hadn’t left the Institute since that day, though Martin’s not sure if it was of his own volition. 

He hadn’t been expecting this though. Martin paused at the top of the stairs when Basira and Melanie entered the lobby below him, hoping they’d pass by without taking notice of him. Daisy trailed several feet behind them, arms curled around herself in that way they always seemed to be now, like she wanted to be as small as possible. Jon appeared at the top of the stairs right as Melanie approached the door. She stopped short, but Basira was looking back to see if Daisy was still there. She collided with Melanie, who was pitched forward into Jon. Martin caught the moment of panic on Jon’s face, but it hadn’t stopped the man from reaching out and catching her before she could crash into him.

“Let go of me!” Her yell had echoed across the lobby, and suddenly there was an audience. Basira reached out and snatched Melanie back towards her, glaring at Jon over the other woman’s shoulder. 

“Jesus, Jon. Do you have to skulk about so much?” Basira’s deep voice had reached Martin on the top floor.

Pain flashed across Jon’s face before it was masked with a sneer. “Right, next time I’ll be sure to just let her fall down the stairs. I apologize for offering assistance.”

The lobby was quiet enough that Martin could hear the sputter of laughter from Daisy. Jon stepped out of the doorway and motioned for them to continue. “Should I give a shout when I’m headed back down? I wouldn’t want to risk sneaking up on someone.”

Basira shook her head and stalked past him. Melanie followed her, muttering something that sounded like  _ “Ass.” _ from this distance. Daisy gave him a small, crooked smile as she passed. Jon stared at the doorway for a moment before turning back to the lobby. His narrow gaze passed over the onlookers.

_ “Stop looking at me.” _

Martin was far enough away that most of the compulsion’s power was lost, but he still felt the static in the air and the shiver the tone sent down his spine. He watched as every face turned immediately away from Jon, some almost painfully quick. The Archivist sneered at them and strode across the lobby in the direction of the canteen. The anger never left his expression, but even after Jon was gone from Martin’s view, he could still see the swirls of grey fog that he had left in his wake.

Martin cocks his head in surprise when Daisy reappears at the top of the Archives stairs. She leans back against the wall and refuses to make eye contact with anyone. He looks away from her when Jon comes back into view, about a minute later. 

The mask is gone now. His shoulders are curled forward, and he stares down at the cup of tea in his hands. (Martin can tell from here that it hasn’t been made properly at  _ all. _ It isn’t even the right color for how Jon takes his tea.) The fog pours from him, spreading to encompass the lobby behind. He watches Rosie’s shoulders sag as the cloud reaches her. Jon’s steps pause when he notices Daisy. She gives him that same lopsided smile and pushes off of the wall. Reaches out a hand.

There’s no hesitation. Jon practically leaps forward to wrap his hand around hers, returning her smile. She pulls him close to her side and bumps her shoulder against his before leading him down the stairs. The fog dissipates before he’s out of sight.

Martin is no longer annoyed. Now he’s just  _ furious. _ As it turns out, rage also cuts through the numbness. After everything he’s been through, after everything he’s sacrificed,  _ someone else  _ gets to touch Jon. To be touched by Jon- to have Jon want to touch them. And of all the people, it’s  _ Daisy,  _ who gave Jon the vivid white scar on his neck _. _ Yet Martin, who has been  _ nothing _ but careful with the man, isn’t allowed.

There’s some part of him that’s still the Martin he knows himself to be, the tiny part that hasn’t been broken in the past few years (that will never be broken, for he is far stronger than he will ever know), that’s glad Jon isn’t alone. This part exults in the small, genuine smile he glimpsed. But it’s a spark easily ignored, especially in the face of the shaking rage filling the void where it used to burn. 

It takes several, long minutes for Martin to gain control of himself. By that time, the rolling bank of fog has made its way down the stairs to fill the floor below him. He can hear the calls of alarm from the staff in artifact storage as he walks back to his office, original destination completely forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, all the fluff you can handle. Man, do we need it now. Let's stockpile the fluff to help us prepare for season 5 or you know, daily life.


	6. After the Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His grip on Jon’s hand loosens. Jon responds by tightening his own.   
> “Martin?”  
> “You don’t have to-” He tries to pull his hand away once again, but Jon isn’t having it.  
> “I’m not holding your hand because I have to, Martin. I want- Wait, do you not want…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The obligatory post-159/pre-160 scene, though the cottage only makes a small cameo. And sadly, the very good cows couldn't make it to the party. But here it is, in all its fluffiest glory. Thank you all for reading and commenting! I have loved hearing your thoughts and seeing you Kermit-flail over the same parts I did when I was working on it.
> 
> Everyone take care of yourselves, and if you aren't on the Rusty Quill Discord, get your butts over there and participate in the virtual hug party as we all prepare to be eviscerated by season 5. 
> 
> I owe gummies so many thanks for beta'ing and offering encouraging words. It has been a genuine pleasure working with you. :)

Jon is holding his hand.

Well, if he’s being accurate, Jon is  _ still _ holding his hand. This has been the case with very little exception since Jon led him out of the Lonely. They had separated momentarily at each of their flats, scrambling to pack a few essentials before they fled London. Even then, Jon had let his fingers slide along Martin’s arm every time he’d passed close enough. 

Martin's having difficulty maintaining his side of the conversation as they walk to and fro the various Underground stations involved in their hectic route. He can answer questions without issue, but he's happy to let Jon fill the blank spaces. Martin's missed that voice. So, his eyes stay on Jon, trusting him to guide them where they need to go. The Archivist seems to be looking everywhere at once; eyes scanning for police or hunters or just cataloging the world around him. It occurs to Martin that this is likely the first time Jon's been out of the Institute since the intervention. Occasionally, his eyes settle on Martin. When he smiles to show that he's still listening, Jon grins at him and squeezes his fingers gently. There's a fluttering feeling in Martin's chest that he's just starting to recall.

The only times Jon goes quiet are on the short train rides from the Institute and between their flats. Martin can tell he feels trapped in the enclosed space, his gaze darting around each time someone makes a sound. These moments give Martin time to take inventory of the man. So many of his mannerisms are achingly familiar. He still chews on his bottom lip while he's trying to work through something in his mind. The small huff of frustration is the same, but Martin is happy to hear it directed at other commuters, as opposed to himself. There are bits of Jon that are new, too; habits developed in the months since he woke up that Martin will need to learn. He hesitates, now, before he asks questions, as if he's ensuring that the compulsion stays out of his voice. Occasionally, while Jon speaks, Martin can feel the soft buzz of static in his mind. Jon has either stopped noticing when knowledge is simply given to him, or he just doesn’t care anymore.

Also, he's apparently perfectly happy to be touching Martin at almost all times. Martin's forced to acknowledge that it isn't simply because Jon's touch aversion has diminished when he snatches his hand away from someone whose arm accidentally brushes him. Jon gives Martin a curious look when his cheeks color. He understands, however, when Martin glances down to where their hands are joined. Jon’s face flushes too, but the only answer he gives is to shift his hand so that their fingers intertwine.

After what feels like hours of panicked trekking about London, they’re forced to stop and wait for the train that will take them north. The station isn’t bustling this late in the evening, but it still takes Jon a few minutes to find a bench far enough away from the other commuters that they’d be able to talk freely. 

Martin catches his breath while Jon mumbles the plan to himself again: the train north, Daisy’s got a car hidden at one of the stations a couple of hours outside of London, Martin has the keys since Jon can’t drive, backroads with no cameras the rest of the way to Scotland, and then lay low except for weekly check-ins with Basira. Martin glances up as a family walks by their bench. The mother’s eyes linger on Jon, then their joined hands, before finding Martin staring back at her. She startles and glances quickly away, pulling the young girl at her side closer.

His grip on Jon’s hand loosens. Jon responds by tightening his own. 

“Martin?”

“You don’t have to-” He tries to pull his hand away once again, but Jon isn’t having it.

“I’m not holding your hand because I have to, Martin. I want- Wait, do you  _ not  _ want…?”

“No, it’s not that- of course I want to hold your hand!” At the moment, his brain is far too overwhelmed to process the smile that particular statement gets. “I just didn’t want to embarrass you. That woman- she was staring at us. I...wasn’t sure if you’d want people to see you holding my hand.” 

“Firstly, I don’t give a fuck what any of these people think of us. Secondly, if I _ did, _ I’d be damn proud for them to see me getting to hold your hand. And lastly, she wasn’t staring at us...or at least, she wasn’t staring at this-” he lifts their hands- “or at you.”

“Why would she be staring at you?”

Jon laughs. “Because I’m scary, Martin. Covered in scars, wearing- I don’t know, last week’s clothes?- hair a mess, haven’t slept in days...and that’s ignoring the fact some people can sense I’m dangerous.”

“That’s not what  _ I _ see.”

“Of course it isn’t. Because you’re Martin,” he smiles up at him, “and you’ve always seen the best in me, even though I rarely deserve it.”

“But you always deserve it! They have no  idea what you’ve been through. Those scars...Jon, you went through  _ hell _ ...and she thinks she gets to just pass judgement-” Martin turns to scowl after the woman. His expression goes slack when he feels Jon’s fingers on his chin, turning his face back towards him.

“I don’t need you to defend my honor. You’re the only one that matters. As long as you see me- as long as you aren’t... afraid of me-” He falters over the rest of the sentence, and Martin realizes Jon isn’t sure what his answer will be.

He squeezes the hand in his. “Never.”

Jon’s eyes won’t meet his now; instead he’s staring at where his fingers are still resting on Martin’s chin. “I’ve...you don’t know what all I’ve done-”

“I know what you are, and I know what I am.” He thinks about the fog rolling off Jon’s shoulders and the sharp hunger that had curled through him at the sight. Jon sucks in a breath, and Martin is  _ sure _ that the Beholding just shared that memory with its Archivist. “Jon… as long as we can help each other be as human as possible, then I’ll never be scared of what you can do.”

The hand on his chin shifts to cup his cheek. “I don’t deserve you,” Jon’s whisper is breathless.

“Not how I see it.” Martin closes his eyes and leans into the hand. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t want...that after I pushed you away, you wouldn’t be able to touch me. That I’d feel like a stranger again.”

Jon is silent for a moment before he says in a voice that breaks softly. “When- when you pulled away, I thought...that you didn’t want me to touch you because of what I’ve become.” Martin looks at him and shakes his head once to show him how preposterous the idea was. “You could never feel like a stranger, Martin. At the risk of sounding rather ridiculously cliche, you feel like home.”

Martin can’t breathe. All of his air rushes out as something enormous fills his chest. He stares at Jon in alarm, trying to feel this love again. He’d forgotten just how _ much _ of it there was, how wonderful and terrifying and all-encompassing it... _ is _ .

Finally he’s able to suck in a breath so that he can blurt out, “I said it wrong!”

Jon’s face shifts from concern to confusion. “What?”

“I’ve wanted to say it for so long, and when I finally did, I got it wrong. On the beach, I thought- I thought you weren’t real, that I was never going to see you again. It’s not past tense. Not at all.” He watches Jon’s face closely for any signs of panic, but instead a grin spreads slowly across his face, stretching the worm scars in a way he’s never seen.

“Good, because it’s quite present tense for me too.”

His brain just gives up at that point (throws its proverbial hands in the air and shouts “And just what the fuck am I supposed to do with  _ that?”). _ The concept of Jon loving him has been there in his brain since ( _ Tell me what you see _ ) Jon had come into sharp focus through the fog, hands gripping his shoulders and smiling up at him. Every time he’d so much as let his thoughts wander towards exploring it further, he’d started to hyperventilate. And now, it’s just out there, put into as many words by the man himself. He’s not sure how long he just stares before Jon brushes his thumb across his cheek.

“Martin? Was that too much? Is it too soon after…?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Literally everything is too much. I’m still dealing with the fact that there are more than two people in this room-”

“Forty-six.” Jon winces. “Right, sorry, not helping.”

“So, yeah, that was a bit like a mushroom cloud in the middle of my head. But you’re here so I’m just sort of going with...all of it at this point.”

Jon’s hand slides around to the back of his neck and pulls him down so that their foreheads are pressed together.

“I adore you.”

Martin tries to ignore just how embarrassing the small noise that escapes him at this truly is. Jon’s eyes peer at him through his long lashes. This close Martin is lost in the sunburst of amber that surrounds the pupils.

Jon swallows thickly. “I’d really like to kiss you.”

The only response Martin can give is a desperate, whispered,  _ “Please.” _

It is not earth-shattering or mind-blowing. It is a simple press of chapped lips softly to his, and it is perfect.

Later, as they huddle close together in a dim, mostly empty train car, talking softly about everything the other has missed while apart, Jon leans in to kiss him again. No one would call this kiss passionate, but it’s far less chaste than the previous. Martin’s head swims when he pulls away. Jon’s pupils are wide in the dark, and he stares, taking in all the changes to Martin’s face he’s just caused.

“I think there is a conversation we need to have. Not here, of course,” Martin glances around but the closest people are several rows away, and the couple are very much not paying attention to anyone else. (That’s rather indecent actually.) “But soon. I want to make sure you are comfortable with...us.”

Such an unbelievably huge word to fit into two little letters.

Jon laces their fingers together and smiles nervously. “I’m not sure how long of a conversation it will be. The honest answer to what I’m comfortable with is that I genuinely don’t know. With G- the last time I was with someone, I...didn’t know myself very well. I forced myself to do things, because I thought that was how it was supposed to be. And when those things felt awful, I just stopped completely. I avoided a few things I think that I might have been okay with. I know that I want to find out. So for now, can it be enough that I need you this close, and that I like kissing you-” which he does again, “and that for the first time in a  _ very _ long time, I want this?” He lifts their hands so that he can brush his lips against Martin’s knuckles.

“Jon, that’s enough to last me a lifetime.”

This time it’s Jon’s turn to simply stare at him. His eyes glint with tears when he ducks his head into Martin’s shoulder. “Thank you.” He takes a moment to compose himself before coming out of hiding. “Still. I do think you’re right. We should have a more detailed conversation once we get settled. I can at least tell you all the things that I know I can’t handle...and what things I’d like to try.”

Martin grins at him. “I can start a list. My  _ Ways I Get To Touch Jonathan Sims _ list.”

Jon laughs loud enough that the other couple pulls away from each other to look at them. He presses his lips to the back of Martin’s hand.

He leans in closer to Jon. “Say it again.”

“I adore you, Martin Blackwood.”

* * *

Martin steps out of the tiny shower and, after drying himself off, wraps a towel around his waist. Now that the water’s off, he can hear the music playing softly from the record player in the living room and can just barely make out Jon’s voice as he sings along. Martin smiles to himself as he walks over to sink, reaching up to wipe the condensation from the mirror. When his hand comes away, there’s nothing but more fog reflected back at him. The music fades as the crashing of waves fills his ears.

He gasps as he comes awake. He feels the cold air fill his lungs. Immediately, a nose presses into his neck, and a kiss brushes against the skin there. “It’s alright, Martin, I’m here. You aren’t alone.”

He watches steam swirl through the air with every breath as he tries to calm himself. Jon had been pressed to his side when he woke- Jon likes to cuddle for a bit when they first go to bed, but he prefers to sleep without contact. In the two weeks they’ve been at the safehouse, Martin has noticed that the mornings that he wakes up with Jon curled into him are the same ones he’s met with haunted eyes and a distant expression. Jon must have already awoken from his own nightmares tonight. Or, more aptly, nightmares that are entirely not his own.

He moves his hand slowly, brushing it against Jon’s shoulder so that he knows the touch is coming. When there’s no movement to stop him, he lets his fingers run through Jon’s hair, feeling the small smile against his neck. This touch is one of the few that’s almost always okay, but Jon smiles every time he pauses for consent. Turns out he will still do damn near anything to get a smile from the man.

“...Are you okay?”

Jon shrugs. “It’s always the same dreams, but it  _ is _ better to wake up with you here. What about you?”

“Just more fog.” Jon’s arms tighten around him, chasing the last bit of cold from his chest. “Talk to me for a bit?”

Jon makes a small noise of contemplation. “I have something else for your list.”

“Oh, really? It’s getting a bit extensive already- Not that I’m complaining!”

“Well, I think this may be more of an explanation as to why it’s getting so long. I’ve always known that I don’t want anyone near, especially not touching me if I don’t feel safe...which has admittedly been most of the time for the past few years. But I’ve figured out that when I do feel safe, it’s not just that I don’t mind the contact, I actually want it.” Jon leans back to look up at him. “You make me feel safe.”

He lays back against the pillow, tugging Martin’s shoulder to pull him further over him. Martin braces himself on his elbow so that he can look down at Jon.

“And I want you to touch me.”

And so Martin does, and when he leans in to kiss Jon, there’s nothing chaste about it.

Things aren’t perfect. They are still working on mapping Jon’s boundaries, which tend to shift, but they’re learning what patterns there are together. They both know this peace can’t last. That something will come for them. But Martin gets to kiss Jon breathless in their bed and cook breakfast in the morning and snuggle on the couch and all the other things that make his heart burst with more feeling than he knew possible. Two weeks before, he had willingly walked away from everything at Peter’s side. Now, there’s not a moment he’ll take for granted.

So, let it come. He has something worth fighting for now.


End file.
